


Entangled: Missing Scenes

by missselene



Series: Sherlock & Sanjay [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hugs, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Love, M/M, Morning Sex, Tender Sex, happiness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2018-12-14 03:04:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11774187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missselene/pseuds/missselene
Summary: This is a collection of oneshots set in theEntangleduniverse. Each chapter is a standalone ficlet.





	1. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds comfort in Sanjay's arms after a case leaves him shaken.
> 
> This chapter takes place a few months after Sherlock and Sanjay's holiday in Scotland.  
> Please note that it contains references to domestic violence.

_November 2020_

Sherlock presses himself more firmly against Sanjay’s body and sighs, feeling the stress of the day slowly ebbing out of him with each rise and fall of Sanjay’s chest. They are sitting curled up against each other on Sanjay’s sofa, Sherlock’s head buried in the crook of Sanjay neck, breathing in his soothing scent.

“Are you going to tell me what brought this on?” Sanjay asks gently. Sherlock showed up at his doorstep and essentially manhandled him into a cuddle, barely saying a word, and Sanjay, kind and understanding as always, just let Sherlock do whatever he needed and find the comfort he required before asking questions. Sherlock is incredibly grateful for that. The revelations he had during the case he worked on today left him in dire need of Sanjay’s easy presence and a proper cuddle. He remains silent for a moment longer, revelling in the feeling of Sanjay’s fingers carding through his hair as he puts his thoughts in order and makes sure he can speak in a composed manner.

“The case I had today was an attempted murder,” he says, his voice mercifully level. “Utterly boring, barely a five, I had it figured out in no time, but I had to interview the suspect’s girlfriend.” Sherlock pauses briefly, swallowing. “She… it was immediately obvious that Barnes – the suspect – was in the habit of beating her.”

He sees the young woman, Jennifer Ashton, in his mind’s eye again: tall and beautiful with honey-blond locks and a an elegant profile, but appearing much smaller as she sat hunched at the kitchen table, pulling the sleeves of her jumper down over her wrists in a nervous tick. Everything about her would have been incredibly easy to deduce even without the black eye and split lip hastily covered with make-up.

“Oh no,” Sanjay says, his arms tightening reflexively around Sherlock. “That’s awful.”

Sherlock agrees with the sentiment, but he can’t let that distract him now. He forces himself to continue.

“But she… she defended him. She thought she deserved to be hit because she wasn’t good enough. And I listened to her say these things and I realised…” Sherlock struggles to complete the sentence. It’s just as difficult to say it as it was to first think it, but he absolutely needs to share this with Sanjay. “That could have been me.”

 _“He lost his job because of me, he’s entitled to be angry with me,”_ Jennifer said, and it felt like an echo of the words that left Sherlock’s lips together with drops of blood years ago in a mortuary: _He’s entitled._ The memory makes Sherlock’s blood run cold.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Sanjay says slowly, and it sounds like he has idea but wants to be wrong. He touches Sherlock’s chin gently and makes Sherlock look up at him and meet his concerned eyes.

“I told myself the same things, when… John hit me,” Sherlock says very quietly, as if hearing it said too loud would just be too much. He’s never actually said the words before, he realises. He holds Sanjay’s gaze, his soft chocolate eyes like a balm on Sherlock’s rattled nerves. “I would have let him do anything he wanted to me.”

This is hardly the first case involving domestic violence Sherlock has come across in the course of his career, but the first one where he made this connection. His legs nearly gave out under him when the realisation formed itself in his mind in Jennifer Ashton’s kitchen. It’s terrifying, to think about the precipice where his relationship with John found itself at the time, what dark path it could have taken from then, without Sherlock being aware of it at all. John has never laid a finger on Sherlock since then, but if he had, if, instead of trying to get his anger in check he’d given it free rein… Or if Sherlock hadn’t met Sanjay but someone else instead, someone with a short fuse and quick temper… as desperate for any scrap of affection as Sherlock had been back then, can he be sure he wouldn’t have decided a few moments of gentleness were worth any amount of pain? Many people go through their lives just looking for targets for their anger, and a shiver runs down Sherlock’s spine at the thought of how easily he could have fit someone’s criteria.

Sanjay’s features are drawn as if in pain, and there’s a sheen of unshed tears in his eyes.

“Oh, love. My darling.” He sounds heartbroken.

Sherlock blinks and feels a drop of moisture run down his own cheek, but he takes a deep breath and continues, because it feels incredibly important for Sanjay to know what he has to say next. “It could have been me, if I hadn’t met you. You’re kind to me and you make me _believe_ that I deserve it. That I’m good enough, worthy of being loved by someone like you.” It sounds trite and cheesy, but it’s the truth, and Sherlock needs Sanjay to know it more than he needs to sound dignified. “I’ve never been more grateful for that than I am now.”

Sanjay pulls Sherlock in and crushes him against his chest.

“Sherlock,” he says in a choked whisper. “I hate that you had to go through all that, I _hate_ that you ever felt unworthy or undeserving or anything like that, but I’m so, _so_ glad that you don’t feel like that anymore. You have no idea how much that means to me.” He pulls away slightly to look Sherlock in the eye and cups his face in his hands tenderly, his eyes intent.

“I love you,” Sherlock says simply. He’s told Sanjay this many times since that first time in Scotland, but it has never felt more meaningful than now. “And I feel so incredibly lucky to have you.”

Sanjay leans in and kisses him, hard and desperate. Sherlock kisses back with all the overwhelming emotion that today has aroused in him, shock and horror and compassion relief and deep, deep love.

“I love you,” Sanjay gets out between kisses, breathing the words against Sherlock’s skin. “So much, Sherlock. And just so you know, you’re not the only one who feels lucky. You make me so much happier than I ever thought I could be.”

Despite all the less than pleasant feelings still roiling inside him, Sherlock can’t help but smile. Making Sanjay happy is the single best thing he could ever hope to achieve in his life.

They kiss again, softer this time, lips and fingertips drying tears, smoothing worry lines, soothing, calming. They eventually settle back into their cosy embrace on the sofa. Sherlock hopes fervently that in time, Jennifer will be able to find the same level of safety and care that he feels in Sanjay’s arms. Barnes will spend a nice amount of time behind bars for his botched attempt to kill his stepfather, Sherlock has made sure of that, and in the meantime Jennifer will hopefully make use the contacts Donovan has provided her with and eventually meet someone who will be good to her.

They stay like that for a long moment, cocooned in each other’s warmth, and Sherlock lets Sanjay’s embrace ground him to the present, where things have, rather unexpectedly, turned out for the best for him. No need to dwell on painful might-have-beens for too long.

“You don’t think…” Sanjay says haltingly after a while, “there’s a chance John would do anything like that again, do you?”

The question catches Sherlock off guard, as if his brain had been shying away from this particular matter. He hates thinking of John as an abuser even more than he hates thinking of himself as a victim. But it occurs to him now that Sanjay probably doesn’t have that problem, and that it’s possible he’s been thinking about John in these terms ever since Sherlock told him how he came to the scar in his left eyebrow. Perhaps that question has been on his mind for all this time.

“No,” he says firmly. “It’s been years since it happened. He went through an anger management course, actually, though he doesn’t know I know that. He’s much more level-headed now. I don’t think there’s any reason to worry.”

Sanjay regards him seriously for a few seconds, then nods. “Good,” he says, and it’s clear that while he accepts Sherlock’s reasoning, he’ll absolutely not stand for it if John ever steps out of line. For someone so naturally gentle, he can definitely pack a lot of steel in one syllable. Sherlock can’t really blame him – he can’t imagine he’d be very forgiving if someone harmed even just a hair on Sanjay’ head. He kisses Sanjay’s forehead until he stops frowning.

“Well,” Sherlock says after a moment, straightening up. He needs to shake all this gloom off. “This emotional upheaval has been rather exhausting. Let’s go dancing.”

“I think you meant ‘lie on the sofa and eat pizza’,” Sanjay counters, stretching languidly.

“Dull. I need to do something energising. A mood booster. Like salsa.”

He gets up and shimmies his hips, making sure that his arse is directly in Sanjay’s line of sight.

“Sherlock, I’d love to, but I’ve got a ton of papers to grade, there’s no way I can go out tonight.”

“What if I help you grade them?” Sherlock offers. Dancing with Sanjay is always guaranteed to make him feel better.

“Yeah, no way,” Sanjay chuckles. “I think we’ve established that writing ‘moron’ all over the page does not constitute grading, and is very difficult to explain to students.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes but lets it slide (there _is_ after all a very slight possibility that he was out of line that time he decided Sanjay’s students were all too stupid for Sanjay to waste time on them).

“What if I order pizza and we dance here before it arrives? And then I’ll walk the dogs so you can work in peace.” He loves hanging out with Jess and Kip, so this would be in no way a hardship, as long as he gets his dance.

Sanjay grins at him and stands up to join him, taking Sherlock’s hands in his. His touch, as always, is gentle and soft.

“Sounds like a plan.”

  
  
  



	2. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Sanjay enjoy the first morning in their new home. 
> 
> This chapter takes place four years before the epilogue of Entangled.

_July 2029_

Sherlock blinks his eyes open into bright Sussex sunlight, groaning slightly. They didn’t get around to hanging the curtains yesterday, and this is the result: being woken up by the sun before six a.m.  But they went to bed rather early last night, exhausted by the move from London, so Sherlock actually feels rather well rested, and he supposes waking up to sunshine on the first morning in his new home – _their_ new home – isn’t so bad. He stretches and rolls over to find Sanjay already awake and looking at him, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Hi,” Sherlock says, his voice croaky.

“Morning, love.” Sanjay leans in to press a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead. “Sleep well?”

“Mmm. We need curtains, though,” Sherlock mumbles into his pillow and reaches for Sanjay’s shoulder, pulling their bodies closer together. They’ve woken up together hundreds of times, but this time feels special, the first time in their new place. They’ve lived together for years now, but Baker Street was always Sherlock’s flat that Sanjay had moved into; this cottage is theirs. Finally, after eleven years, a house they chose and furnished together to be their home, for the rest of their lives.

“I’m glad we woke up early,” Sanjay says, sneaking an arm around Sherlock’s shoulder, their bodies slotting against each other with practiced ease. “I want to make the most of our first day here.”

Sherlock grins at him sleepily and brings their mouth together in a tender, drawn-out kiss. They kiss lazily as the sun rises higher in the sky, shaking off the last remnants of sleep, slow heat pooling in their bellies.

“Shall we christen the bed?” Sherlock asks when they break apart. He loves lazy morning sex, and the idea of making love in bright sunlight in their new bed in their new home is especially appealing.

“I think that’s absolutely imperative,” Sanjay says, and pulls Sherlock on top of him.

There is no hurry, no better place to be than each other’s embrace and they let the heat rise slowly, kicking off first the duvet and then their respective pyjama pants, kissing languidly, hands roaming over smooth skin. Sanjay’s thighs bracket Sherlock’s hips as he grinds their groins together in a deliciously slow rhythm. It’s just a bit of easy friction, their cocks sliding against each other, but it feels perfect simply because it’s Sanjay, his hot mouth on Sherlock’s lips and gentle hands on his skin. Is it normal that their sex life is still so good after so many years? The frequency has decreased slightly as they get older, yes, but it’s still _so good_. Sherlock has nothing to compare it with, granted, but he’s absolutely certain that he could never wish for a better lover than Sanjay.

Sanjay’s hands find Sherlock’s arse and start to knead his buttocks, pulling them apart and then squeezing them closed, and it only takes a short while of this before Sherlock is desperate to feel Sanjay’s fingers against his opening, as Sanjay knows very well.

“Please tell me that we have lube somewhere nearby and not at the bottom of some box downstairs,” Sanjay says as slips his fingers down Sherlock’s crack, a feather-light touch that almost tickles, before teasing the tight ring of muscle with a dry fingertip.

“Under my pillow,” Sherlock exhales.

“I love you,” Sanjay says with a grin and reaches under the pillow to find a travel-sized tube of lubricant that Sherlock purchased precisely to avoid having to interrupt their activities in search of supplies.

Sanjay drizzles lube over their cocks first, making their slide against one another nice and slippery, and then coats his right index finger and presses it where Sherlock wants it.

Sherlock loves sex with Sanjay in all its forms, but he has to admit he loves it a little bit _more_ when some sort of anal activity is involved. Not necessarily prostate stimulation, even, just having his hole played with adds an extra edge to his arousal. Like now: Sanjay’s slick finger presses against his entrance, circles it, massages it, teases it in a way that feels _divine_. Sherlock sighs, rocking their hips together.

It’s perfect bliss: kisses and gasps, slick friction, whispered endearments, Sanjay’s finger slipping easily inside Sherlock’s willing body. The angle doesn’t allow him to get much deeper than the first knuckle, but that’s more than enough for today, the lazy ebb and flow of arousal that simmers underneath the surface rather than burning bright. Sherlock could do this, love Sanjay’s body like this, for hours.

Or, well, maybe not. The intensity rises incrementally, pulses quickening, breaths shortening, and eventually Sherlock finds himself wishing for a deeper penetration, a firmer grip on his cock, but before he can even begin to think about voicing that wish, Sanjay already knows.

“More?” he asks, his voice beautifully breathy and gravelly, his eyes entirely black as he looks up at Sherlock.

“Yes,” Sherlock sighs. Sanjay grins wickedly, and that’s all the warning Sherlock gets before Sanjay flips them over. Sherlock finds himself on his back, his legs spread wide but his hole empty and his cock untouched as Sanjay kisses his throat and chest, and it soon becomes evident that Sanjay intends to take a rather roundabout way to the _more_ he promised. Sherlock likes that, and he’s not too far gone for delayed gratification to be uncomfortable, but he still can’t help a frustrated noise at the lack of proper stimulation.

“Sanjay,” he whines, his hips jerking up when Sanjay abandons his nipples to simply nuzzle at his belly, so close to where Sherlock wants him.

“Patience,” Sanjay breathes against Sherlock’s heated skin and then lifts his gaze to look at Sherlock, and the sight nearly takes Sherlock’s breath away: Sanjay’s trim brown body framed by Sherlock’s pale thighs, his jet black hair with the occasional thread of silver falling into his eyes that crinkle at the corners as he looks up at Sherlock with undisguised desire and love, sinfully beautiful in the sunlight streaming in through the window behind him. Sherlock moans, hands twisting in the sheets helplessly.

“Yes, that’s it,” Sanjay says as he mouths at the crease of Sherlock’s leg and groin. “There are no neighbours here, you can be as loud as you like.” Sherlock doesn’t feel a need to be particularly loud today (not yet, anyway), but he moans again just the same, his arousal spiking simply at the prospect of screaming himself hoarse during one of their slightly rougher sessions.

Sanjay licks the sensitive underside of Sherlock’s cock from the base to the head with just the tip of his tongue in a way that doesn’t alleviate Sherlock’s need in any way. He slurps at the pre-come beading at the tip, making Sherlock’s back arch, and then moves lower to mouth at Sherlock’s testicles just as two of his fingers finally, blessedly bury themselves inside Sherlock.

“ _Yes, oh yes, Sanjay_ ,” Sherlock babbles breathlessly and grinds down on Sanjay’s fingers, loving the way his muscles clench around them. Sanjay begins moving his hand in a tantalising back-and-forth as his mouth and tongue worship every bit of Sherlock’s body they can reach, his inner thighs, his sac, his perineum, but never his cock. On ever third thrust or so Sanjay makes sure to massage the little hard nub of Sherlock’s prostate, sending shocks of white hot pleasure down every nerve of Sherlock’s body until he’s drenched in sweat, every muscle quivering with arousal.

“Fuck me,” Sherlock begs, “oh god, please.”

Sanjay lets Sherlock’s balls fall out of his mouth and sits up, his fingers slipping out of Sherlock’s body. He licks his lips.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says with a smirk, as if Sherlock were the one who’d been dragging it out, but Sherlock’s too desperate now to point that out. He loves the way Sanjay can make him care about nothing else but the way his body feels with Sanjay’s body. Sanjay finds the lube and slicks himself up and Sherlock grabs the underside of his own thighs to pull his legs up and apart, presenting himself to Sanjay, his hole open and wanting, his cock heavy and flush against his stomach.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Sanjay says as he lines himself up, “do you know how gorgeous you are?”

“You’ve told me once or twi— _ahh!_ ” Sherlock’s attempt at flippancy is interrupted when Sanjay pushes in, Sherlock’s body yielding eagerly to the intrusion. It always feels so _right_ to have Sanjay inside him, Sherlock can’t imagine ever tiring of it. They moan in unison, revelling in the feel of each other.

Sherlock wraps his legs around Sanjay’s waist and Sanjay settles on top him, taking Sherlock’s hands in his and lacing their fingers together above Sherlock’s head. Sherlock know exactly what that means: it means Sanjay wants him to come without either of them touching his cock.

“Can you?” Sanjay asks, panting against Sherlock’s mouth as he begins moving within him.

“I think so, yeah.” They’ve had a sufficiently slow and drawn-out start, which is usually what Sherlock needs to come from anal stimulation alone. It can be frustrating sometimes, chasing his climax without being able to ease the ache in his cock in any way, but the powerful orgasm that follows is generally worth it, and the way it turns Sanjay on is _always_ worth it. “Go slow but hard,” he says, although he knows that Sanjay doesn’t need to be told – he knows exactly how to fuck Sherlock just right.

Sanjay sets a perfect slow rhythm, pulling out almost completely and then pushing back in with firm, precise strokes that set Sherlock’s prostate on fire, making a constant flow of low keening sounds spill from Sherlock’s lips.

“Look at me,” Sanjay rasps and Sherlock struggles to open his eyes, the pleasure almost too intense now to be borne with his eyes open. He holds Sanjay’s gaze and sees the effort Sanjay makes to stave off his orgasm, his desire for Sherlock, his tenderness and love, and it’s just too much. His eyes slide shut once again as he throws his head back and moans, clenching his muscles around Sanjay.

“Faster now,” he gasps but Sanjay’s hips are already picking up speed, sending him closer and closer to the precipice with each deep thrust.

“Beautiful, you’re amazing, Sherlock, you feel so good, I love doing this to you, I love you, so much,” Sanjay chants breathlessly as rocks him, a broken stream of praise and love that Sherlock has heard thousands of times but that has lost none of its appeal and power with repetition. Sherlock manages only to squeeze Sanjay’s hands in response, feeling his orgasm starting to form at the base of his spine, his entire body coiling and tightening in preparation, he just needs a little _more_ right _there –_

 _“Sanjay,”_ he cries out helplessly and then he’s _coming_ , his neglected cock erupting between them and shooting thick strips of come across his chest. He can’t make out Sanjay’s words of encouragement as he drives into Sherlock harder several times before stilling, pumping out his own release deep inside Sherlock, sending another wave of pleasure through him.

They collapse into a pile of limbs and sweat, breathing heavily. Sherlock can barely move, bliss and satiation filling his body with molten lead. Sanjay sighs as he slips out of Sherlock and somehow finds enough energy to wipe them down quickly with – something, Sherlock can’t be bothered to notice what and doesn’t even care if it’s his pyjama pants. When Sanjay plops down next to him, Sherlock manages to turn to his side and slip an arm around Sanjay’s waist, burying his nose in Sanjay’s damp hair.

“That wasn’t half bad for a retired man, huh,” Sanjay teases him, running his fingertips up and down Sherlock’s arm as they slowly begin to readjust to world around them.

“Shut up,” Sherlock tells him, but there’s no heat in it. That’s what he is now – a retired man. A retired man living in a picture-perfect Sussex cottage who’s going to set up a bee colony and have loud sex with his amazing partner whenever he pleases and never not have a dog (or two).

“Seriously now, though,” Sanjay says and shifts a little to be able to look Sherlock in the eye. “You sure you’re still okay with all this?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes – Sanjay’s concern for him is honestly a bit excessive at times.  It’s true they’ve moved at this particular time and to this particular place because of Sanjay’s job, but the rest of it is straight out of Sherlock’s dreams.

“I can’t imagine anything better,” he says sincerely and kisses Sanjay’s lips. “Now stop worrying, it makes you go grey.”

“You love my grey hair.”

“I love all of you.”

They smile at each other like loons.

“How about we take a shower, have some coffee and then go check out that bakery in the village to see if they have something for that sweet tooth of yours, hmm?” Sanjay suggests.

“I don’t have a sweet tooth,” Sherlock protests automatically.

“Sure you don’t,” Sanjay laughs as he gets up and pads to the bathroom.

Sherlock watches him go and then stretches luxuriously, welcoming the first day of the rest of his life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any requests or prompts that you would like to see in these ficlets, let me know in the comments or on tumblr. I can't promise I'll write all of them, but I can't try!


	3. Chair

_February 2021 (three years after they met)_

_Drop by Baker St when convenient. – SH_

John checks the time when the message was delivered 23 minutes ago – and frowns. 23 minutes, and Sherlock didn’t get impatient enough to text again to say that the “convenient” time should be immediately? Incredibly suspicious.

John changes out of his scrubs and decides to take a detour to Baker Street on his way home, just to make sure Sherlock hasn’t been replaced by some sort of polite clone. When he gets there, he finds Sherlock standing in the middle of the living room, eyes closed and hands in prayer position under his chin, which is fairly normal, but the living room is _tidy_ , and that is most certainly _not_ normal. All the overflowing piles of papers, case mementos and various knickknacks seem to be just… gone.

“Sherlock?” John says, and when Sherlock doesn’t react, lost in the depths of his mind palace, he raises his voice. “Sherlock!”

Sherlock startles and opens his eyes, turning to face John.

“John,” he says and frowns, looking John up and down as if trying to deduce why John has come.

“You texted me,” John reminds him, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, right!” Sherlock exclaims, but then he seems to hesitate slightly. “I wanted to ask if you’d like to keep your chair,” he says in a much calmer tone, looking at John a little sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Sherlock gestures to the pink armchair that John generally sits in when they have a client and that John still thinks of as his even after all these years. “Do you want to take the chair home?”

“You’re… throwing it out?” John says, and something twinges in his chest. He remembers that time after he married Mary and then came to 221B to find his chair gone.

“Sanjay’s moving in,” Sherlock says. He speaks evenly, but John can tell he’s barely suppressing the urge to bounce on the ball of his feet as he says it. “We decided that his sofa and chairs and in a better condition than mine, so we’ll keep those.”

“Oh, right,” John says. He’s been expecting it, of course – to be honest, he’s surprised it took them this long to finally decide to start living together – but the news still shocks him with the finality of it: Sanjay moving in to occupy the spaces that used to be John’s. “About time,” he says, and smiles, because he’s Sherlock’s friend.

Sherlock’s face breaks into a wide, happy grin. “Yes. I moved some of my things to 221C to make room for his stuff, but the chairs and the sofa will just have to go. It’s yours if you want it.”

John looks at the chair. It would stand out terribly in his and Lara’s living room and there is simply no space for it in their bedroom, but perhaps Rosie could have it in her room. John could sit in it to read her bedtime stories, while she’s still young enough to want them.

But no. He has to let it go, doesn’t he? All of it. Sherlock is happier now than John could ever have made him, and there is no point in holding on to old regrets and might-have-beens. Sherlock is happy, and John can be, too. He’s spent enough time beating himself up about pulling his head out of his arse way too late, and perhaps this symbolic gesture is precisely what he needs to be finally free of it all. It’s time to turn over a new leaf, fresh and unmarred. He’s ready.

He touches the top of the backrest, stroking his thumb over the worn material. He shakes his head.

“Thank you, but no. I think it would just look out of place.” He looks up at Sherlock. “It’ll be weird, though. I can’t imagine this place without these two chairs facing each other.”

Sherlock gives him a small, soft smile, stepping closer.

“Neither can I, to be quite honest. But I don’t want Sanjay to feel like a guest in my house. It needs to be his home, too.” He sounds so earnest as he says it, like there is nothing in the world that could possibly stop him from making Sanjay comfortable. It’s rather adorable, actually.

“And you’re planning to maintain this level of tidiness as well?” John asks doubtfully.

Sherlock smirks. “I don’t think so. I just had to go through everything to see what I wanted to keep and what I could get rid of and cleaned up in the process, but I don’t suppose it will last.”

John imagines that Sherlock’s “to throw away” pile was rather small, given his hoarding habits, and that 221C is currently full of boxes of things that no one could ever need. But the fact that he was willing to do it at all speaks volumes.

“I’ll be sad to see the chairs go, but I’m really happy for you. You two deserve to make a home together,” John says, surprising himself – both that he says it and that he feels it, that it’s no longer something he has to force himself into because it’s what a friend is supposed to do. And it’s such a relief, too – that the fact that Sherlock has a partner who’s good for him is finally a source of joy for John rather than resentment. Sherlock blinks at him, obviously a little startled. John can’t blame him – he’s never been particularly good at expressing his feelings, and it was usually Sherlock who suffered for it. No more of that.

“Thank you,” Sherlock says a little awkwardly, giving him a small smile. John reaches up to give him a brief clap on the shoulder, which is usually the upper limit of physicality they engage in, but then he thinks, fuck it. If it’s all finally behind them, if they’ve both been able to get over old pain and hurt and unrequited feelings, then maybe they can finally become friends who don’t have to wait for extreme circumstances to hug each other – which is, John is certain, what they both want to be. And so he grips Sherlock’s shoulder and pulls him in.

It’s brief and a bit tense and John’s already pulling away by the time Sherlock gets over his shock enough to return the embrace, and they both look away in mild embarrassment when they step apart, but at least nobody’s crying or getting married. It’s a start.

  
  
  



	4. Merry and Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Sanjay's first Christmas together.

_Christmas Eve 2018 (first Christmas)_

Sherlock lets the last notes of _White Christmas_ drift through the air, staying still for a moment with his eyes closed and violin and bow still in position, but he can already tell that something’s different, that the mood in the room has shifted slightly. He opens his eyes to find Sanjay is no longer curled up on the sofa with a cup of mulled wine, but standing in the middle of the room as if something stopped him on his way to somewhere, and even in the dim light of candles and fairly lights it’s obvious that his eyes are fixed on Sherlock. His expression is difficult to interpret in the semi-darkness, wide-eyed and intent, but something about it makes Sherlock a little nervous. He lowers his arms a little awkwardly and waits for Sanjay to say or do something to explain the sudden charge in the room.

Sanjay stays quiet and still for a few seconds, just breathing and looking at Sherlock like he’s some kind of revelation, and then he steps closer and gently takes the violin and bow out of Sherlock’s hands. Sherlock lets him take them and deposit them carefully on the side table. He says nothing, because for some reason it feels like it’s not his turn to speak. Sanjay steps close to Sherlock, their chests almost touching, and from this close Sherlock can hear the slight quiver of his breath. He lifts one hand to cup Sherlock’s cheek and he looks at Sherlock with a sort of awe that almost takes Sherlock’s breath away, and then he leans in and presses his lips to Sherlock’s.

Sherlock thinks he’s become quite adept at kissing over the six months they’ve been together and experienced all kinds of kisses, from quick pecks to expressions of pure lust, but he finds himself quite unprepared for the way he’s kissed now, in the hushed half-light of Sanjay’s living room on Christmas Eve, the smell of cloves and pine needles filling the air. Sanjay kisses him softly in a way that goes beyond gentleness, beyond tenderness. It feels almost reverent, each press of lips, each little lick like something out of a dream, and Sherlock’s heart fills with feelings he can’t even begin to name, but it turns out that the doesn’t really need words to understand.

When they break apart Sherlock is almost light-headed with it, the way Sanjay can make the world shrink to nothing but the two of them. Sanjay is looking at him with a small smile now, his eyes shining.

“I want to tell you something,” he says then, his voice low and soft. “It’s about Chris.”

“Oh?” is all Sherlock manages in response, caught off guard. Sanjay doesn’t talk about his dead husband much. He comes up occasionally, of course, but Sanjay doesn’t just randomly bring him up, so this feels significant. Sherlock squeezes his arms around Sanjay in what he hopes is an encouraging way.

“He really liked Christmas,” Sanjay says and his smile grows wider at the memory. “I mean, we both did, but he just loved it. He was an arts and crafts kind of person and Christmas was really his time to shine. His presents were always wrapped in a way that made you feel it was a crime to actually open them, and he liked decorating the tree and the house and made all kinds of home-made ornaments.”

At this, Sherlock starts to suspect he knows here it’s going. There had been no Christmas decorations in Sanjay’s house only a few days ago, and definitely no hand-made ones. The ones that are here now, the baubles and tinsel and fairy lights, Sherlock and Sanjay had bought together a week ago when Sanjay dragged him to a Christmas market (a horrifying experience, but worth it in Sanjay’s company).

“Anyway,” Sanjay continues, “Christmas was always a big thing in this house. And when he died, I just… couldn’t face it without him.” Sherlock’s arms tighten around him reflexively and Sanjay leans into him, bows his head towards the crook of Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock can’t see his face that way, but he supposes that makes it a little bit easier for Sanjay. “I threw away all the decorations, which I hate myself for now but at the time I couldn’t stand even just having them in the house. That first Christmas without him I lied to everyone about what I’d be doing so people wouldn’t worry about me, but I just stayed at home alone for three days watching nearly every show on Netflix and eating frozen pizza. I never even took Jess out for a walk, I just let her out in the garden, and I didn’t get any presents for anyone or send any cards or anything. Then the following year I got better but I still didn’t want any Christmas so I went to Thailand and pretended it was July, and I did pretty much the same thing the two years after that. I didn’t think this year would be any different, not even after I met you. But here I am. This year when I first head carols in the shops I realised I didn’t hate them anymore and I wanted to bake mince pies and get a tree and everything.” He lifts his head to look Sherlock in the eye again and says, as if Sherlock could possibly miss his point, “Thanks to you.”

Sherlock’s eyes prickle and he blinks rapidly. Sanjay has had such a huge impact on Sherlock’s life over the short time they’ve been together, but it still catches Sherlock by surprise when he gets a reminder that it goes both ways, that he, Sherlock Holmes, rude and arrogant and asocial, has actually made Sanjay happier. What more could he possibly want?

“So you’re saying,” he says when he thinks he’s got his vocal cords under control but he still stammers a little, “that I am to blame for your involvement in this insanity.”

Sanjay chuckles a little. He’s beautiful in the soft flickering light. “Yes, you, the famous Christmas cynic.”

Sherlock smiles. “It’s not so bad when I’m with you. In fact, it seems you make me quite ridiculously sentimental.”

“Do I?”

“Mm,” Sherlock hums, buying himself a little more time. These things don’t come easy to him, but he wants Sanjay to know. “Thank you for telling me this, Sanjay. I… It means a lot to me to know that you’re happy.  And I am, too. Happier than I thought I could be.”

Sanjay kisses him again, briefly this time. “I’m glad,” he breathes against Sherlock’s lips. “And you’re right. You _are_ getting a bit sentimental.”

“All your fault, I’m afraid,” Sherlock says, but he doesn’t even care. It’s Christmas, and he’s happy.


	5. Vanilla Spice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanjay always does his best to meet Sherlock's needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This instalment is a PWP with light D/s content. Skip if that's not your cup of tea.

_January 2022 (a year after Sanjay moved in)_

All in all, Sanjay considers himself a good lover. He’s only had two partners, granted (and he has no interest in increasing that number), so it’s not like many people could vouch for his skill, but he likes giving pleasure and focusing on his partner’s enjoyment, and neither Chris no Sherlock have had cause for complaint. But he has to admit that he’s perhaps a bit… vanilla in his tastes. He prefers sex to happen lying down in bed, and while he’s open to experimentation, he’s never gone much further than a couple of sex toys and trying out different positions. So the first time that Sanjay gets worried he might be unable to satisfy his partner is when Sherlock, endearingly shy but determined, voices an interest in a dominant/submissive dynamic, with Sherlock on the submissive side of the equation.

To say that Sanjay is caught off guard would be an understatement; the images of whips and leather and dungeons that flash through his mind at Sherlock’s words make him a bit nauseous, and it must show on his face because Sherlock trails off, his cheeks turning crimson.

“Never mind, it was just an idea, forget it,” he says quickly, and of course at that Sanjay has to pull himself together enough to tell him to go on, because the last thing he wants is for Sherlock to feel embarrassed about what he needs. It has been Sanjay’s joy and privilege to watch Sherlock grow from a bashful virgin to a confidently sensual creature who is at ease in his body and knows his desires, even if he isn’t particularly comfortable talking about them, so when he does talk about them, Sanjay isn’t going to shut him down. They talk about it for hours that night, and come back to the topic many times before they actually do anything.

Sherlock’s desires turn out to be much tamer than Sanjay feared when they explore them. He’s not into pain or humiliation or asphyxiation or any of the more extreme stuff that Sanjay read about online and that he would be simply unable to do. What he likes is, occasionally, to be ordered around, to be told what to do (and particularly what _not_ to do – don’t touch yourself, don’t move, don’t come until I say you can), to be made to obey, to be at Sanjay’s mercy. To feel claimed and owned, driven out pf his mind. It’s at the same time not that different from their “regular” sex, and so far removed it might as well be a completely different activity. Sanjay _is_ usually (though by no means always) the more… active partner in bed, and he is always attuned to Sherlock’s needs, always making sure that they’re met and that he’s comfortable, and it’s not like they’ve never been a little rough or ventured into a bit of orgasm delay or that Sanjay isn’t in the habit of lavishing Sherlock with praise, but this is different. The explicit power imbalance makes Sanjay a bit uncomfortable and it doesn’t come naturally to him at all to even just pretend that he only cares about his own needs. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy their sessions, as he’s started calling them in his head – Sherlock’s pleasure is too obvious and too intense for him not to enjoy it, but it comes at a price. He has to work hard at maintaining his persona, all of his senses constantly on high alert. They have a safeword, of course, but it’s Sanjay job to make sure Sherlock doesn’t need to use it. It’s a lot for him, mentally, and the end of a sessions he generally feels as exhausted as if he had run a marathon, even if the sex itself wasn’t particularly strenuous.

But they make it work, over the course of weeks and months they find ways for both of them to be comfortable and get what they need. Sherlock doesn’t ask for it too often, usually only once every few weeks, after a particularly gruelling case, or when his brilliant brain gets too loud for comfort. He respects Sanjay’s limits, and Sanjay makes sure to enforce them – he knows that things wouldn’t go well for either of them if he got too uncomfortable to play his part. For instance – Sherlock’s hands have to be free if he can’t speak, because Sanjay always wants him to be able to let Sanjay know he needs to stop. So right now Sherlock’s arms are crossed at the wrist behind his back and he’s not allowed to move them while he kneels in front of Sanjay, but they aren’t bound, because soon his mouth will be full.

“Open,” Sanjay says in the practiced tone of command that never fails to make Sherlock’s eyes glaze over, and Sherlock does as he’s told. He opens his mouth as wide as it goes without a second’s hesitation.

Sanjay takes hold of his cock and circles Sherlock’s plush pink lips with the tip of it, teasing. He can see Sherlock fighting the urge to lean in and swallow him whole.

“You’re so desperate for me, aren’t you? Can’t wait to have your pretty mouth full of my cock, hmm?” Sanjay asks as he continues rubbing the head of his penis all over Sherlock’s lips. He can feel the wet heat of the inside of his mouth and he’s eager to slip in, but not yet. Sherlock moans a little, his eyelashes fluttering.

Sanjay pulls away abruptly and lifts Sherlock’s chin up, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“I asked you a question, didn’t I?” he says, forcing a steely edge into his voice. “So answer me.”

“Yes,” Sherlock breathes, looking up at Sanjay in utter surrender. “Please.” He lets his mouth hang open again, waiting for Sanjay to fill it.

“Good boy,” Sanjay says, revelling in the way Sherlock’s eyes grow darker at the words. “Go on then, suck me, show me what you can do.” He pushes his cock inside Sherlock’s mouth and Sherlock moans around it the moment his tongue touches it. He tends to get completely wanton during their sessions. At first Sanjay thought that Sherlock’s almost pornographic enjoyment was a show for his benefit, designed to make him feel more at ease about the whole thing, but he soon realised that Sherlock wouldn’t be capable of anything like that in this kind of headspace. He is a sensual person under ordinary circumstances, but when he submits he completely loses all inhibitions. He pushes his head forward, sinking down on Sanjay’s cock until it hits the back of his throat and he hums around it in obvious pleasure. Then he begins moving, rubbing his lips up and down Sanjay’s length, his talented tongue teasing Sanjay’s most sensitive spots with practiced mastery. He’s _obscene_ about it, drooling and groaning low in his throat, slurping like’s never tasted anything better – and it’s this, precisely, the way Sherlock lets loose so completely, that makes this worth all the efforts. Sanjay lets his fingers tangle in Sherlock’s curls, feeling himself quickly approaching climax, and then Sherlock stills his movements and looks up at him, eyes wide and beseeching, and Sanjay knows what he wants.

He tightens his grip on Sherlock’s hair – not enough to hurt, but enough to provide a firm hold and keep Sherlock still – and thrusts forward. Slowly and shallowly at first, just to make sure that Sherlock’s ready, and when Sherlock’s eyes flutter closed in pure bliss, he begins pistoning his hips forward, burying himself in Sherlock’s supple, willing mouth. It’s a thin line he’s toeing here, making sure to stay just the right side of rough, but he knows it well enough by now. He fucks Sherlock’s mouth with as much abandon as he allows himself, and when he feels seconds away from orgasm, he pulls out.

Sherlock’s eyes open in bewildered disappointment, but only stay that way for a second because Sanjay is fisting himself roughly, looking at Sherlock’s swollen, parted lips and dishevelled hair, the beautifully debauched way he looks, and then he lets out a deep groan and comes, long strips of come falling on Sherlock’s upturned face.

When the first shot of ejaculate lands on Sherlock’s cheek Sherlock cries out as if Sanjay had just hit his prostate, and then again and again, loud, short _uhhh_ ’s that sound as if they were pulled from the bottom of Sherlock’s stomach, and when Sanjay looks below his own cock, he realises that Sherlock is coming too – his hips jerking helplessly into empty air, his cock twitching and spurting on Sherlock’s abdomen, completely untouched.

“ _Fuck,”_ Sanjay moans, unable to help himself, and his cock lets out one last weak dribble. Sherlock’s able to come untouched relatively easily, but just from Sanjay painting his face with come? That’s something else. He wants to tell Sherlock how incredibly hot he finds it, but he knows that this situation calls for a different reaction.

“Did I tell you you could come?” he asks when he gets his breath back and his voice under control. “Answer me.”

“No, sir,” Sherlock says. His chest is heaving as he sit back on his haunches, eyes downcast in obvious shame. Sanjay hides a wince at being called _sir_ and fights the urge to comfort Sherlock. That’s not what Sherlock needs from him right now.

“That’s right, I didn’t. You were being so good for me just now, but you ruined it. Look what mess you’ve made of yourself.” Sanjay gestures towards Sherlock’s sticky crotch, as if Sanjay’s come on his face somehow didn’t qualify as mess.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock says, always so much more willing to apologise in a scenario like this.

“As you should be.” A contrast to his cold words, Sanjay runs his thumb over Sherlock eyebrow, wiping away a dribble of come before it can run down to Sherlock’s eye. In a flash of inspiration, he pushes his thumb to Sherlock’s lips and Sherlock’s latches onto it eagerly, licking it all away with quick little flicks of tongue. “I was going to fuck you later, but now I’m not sure if you deserve it. You’ll have to convince me that you can still be a good boy. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” Sherlock promises breathlessly.

“Good. Now go get yourself cleaned up and bring us some water.”

Sherlock scrambles to his feet, swaying a little on his unsteady legs. Sanjay catches his elbow, supporting him. Sherlock’s wrists are still crossed behind his back.

“Careful,” he tells him. “There’s no rush. And you can use your hands now.” Sherlock nods and disappears in the bathroom.

Alone in the bedroom, Sanjay takes a deep breath in and then lets it out in a long, slow exhale, grounding himself. He feels like an actor hiding backstage during the interval, getting ready for the next act. Sitting on the edge of the bed he listens to water running in the bathroom and does some more breathing exercises to clear his mind. What he’s planning to do next will take a while and he needs to stay focused throughout.

Sherlock comes back carrying two glasses of water, the long, lean line of his body as beautiful as ever. He looks at Sanjay expectantly.

Sanjay opens his legs and pats his right thigh. “Come sit.”

Sherlock walks over slowly, clearly conscious on Sanjay’s admiring gaze on him. He perches on Sanjay’s thigh, wincing when the position puts more pressure on the butt plug Sanjay made him put in when they started. He leans towards Sanjay as if seeking the heat of his body. Sanjay rubs at his lower back, more for his own benefit than for Sherlock’s.

“You okay?” he asks, dropping the act for just a second.

“Yes,” Sherlock says, still in the half-dazed tone he gets in these situations.  He’s looking at Sanjay but his eyes are unfocused, his face relaxed and trusting, and Sanjay suddenly feels such a rush of love for him he can hardly bear it. It may not be the easiest thing for him to do this, but it’s so, so worth it.

He places a hand on Sherlock’s lower belly, right where the thatch of pubic hair begins, and he feels a shiver run through Sherlock’s body, creating ripples on the surface of the water in the glasses he’s holding.

“Don’t spill a drop,” Sanjay says, which is, he thinks, profoundly unsexy as orders go, but it makes Sherlock sigh and his now mostly soft cock twitch in interest. He rubs the skin of Sherlock’s abdomen and then moves his hand slowly upwards, stroking Sherlock’s chest as he goes until he reaches a nipple. The little sensitive nub is hard and peaked under his fingers as Sanjay massages it gently, rolling it between finger and thumb, squeezing and tweaking. Sherlock’s begun to breathe harder, but his hands remain steady, his grip on the glasses tightening, the muscles in his arms tense and flexed. Sanjay bends his spine so that he can get to Sherlock’s other nipple with his mouth, latching onto it and sucking hard. Sherlock gasps and then moans and then continues moaning as Sanjay sucks on one nipple and scrapes it with his teeth while rubbing and pinching the other. When he stops and looks up Sherlock is flushed panting and his cock is back to full hardness, but his hands holding the glasses haven’t moved an inch.

“Good,” he says, and the shift in the way Sherlock holds himself is subtle but noticeable: preening under Sanjay’s praise. “That was very good, Sherlock. And you’re going to continue doing just as well, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect.” He takes one glass out of Sherlock’s hand and takes a few sips, then sets it on the bedside table. “Now drink as much as you need to, but at least half the glass.”

Sherlock takes the glass to hips lips and gulps, downing almost all of it. Sanjay watches his long pale throat move, and he loves him so much.

When Sherlock’s done Sanjay takes the glass from him and pushes him to his feet.

“Now, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to lie down on your front on the bed and spread your legs. I don’t want to see any thrusting against the mattress, or rubbing yourself on the sheets. The second you move we’re done, and you don’t get to come at all. Is that clear?”

Sherlock nods, his entire body visibly thrumming with the need to obey Sanjay’s orders.

“I need to hear your answer, Sherlock.”

“Yes, sir, it’s clear.”

“Very good. Now do as I said.”

Sherlock scrambles to the bed with almost comical haste. He lies on his front in the middle of it and spreads his legs, his arms in a loose circle around his head.

“Wider,” Sanjay commands. “Bend one knee if you have to, I want you nice and open for me.”

Sherlock does as he’s told, bending his left leg at the knee and pulling it close to his chest, his butt cheeks parting to reveal the bring purple base of the plug. The position can’t be particularly comfortable, but also not overly uncomfortable. It’s always about finding the right balance.

Sanjay climbs on the bed behind Sherlock and runs his hands over Sherlock’s milky thighs to the firm globes of his arse.

“You look beautiful like this, Sherlock, all spread out for me. You’re all mine, aren’t you, for me to do with as I please.”

Sherlock whimpers a little in response, goose bumps rising on his skin, but he doesn’t move. Sanjay strokes his buttocks and then lets his fingertips trail down to the plug. He pushes against it and Sherlock’s breath hitches, his muscles tensing.

“Hold yourself open for me,” Sanjay says, and Sherlock grips his own cheeks and spreads them apart, revealing himself completely. Sanjay takes hold of the base and _pulls_.

“ _Ohhh_!” Sherlock shouts, his legs twitching and the plug slips out.

“Shhh, keep still.” Sanjay uses the tip of the plug to circle Sherlock’s stretched rim, slipping in and out a little. “You’re so lovely, Sherlock, just perfect, so open and wet. I could slide right in you. Do you feel empty now?”

“Yes,” Sherlock moans, his fingers digging into his own flesh.

“Would you like me to stuff you full?”

“Yes, oh, please, yes!”

“Ah, but I can’t do that, you see,” Sanjay says, teasing Sherlock’s hole with the plug for the last time before setting it aside. “You came without permission earlier and that means you don’t deserve my cock now. My tongue is all you’ll get.”

There’s limited space on the bed behind Sherlock but Sanjay fits himself there, his face inches away from Sherlock’s opening.

“Remember: don’t move and don’t come,” Sanjay says, and dives in.

The lube they used on the plug is edible and allegedly cherry flavoured, but its taste and texture are still vile, so Sanjay tries to get rid of it as soon as possible. He licks at Sherlock’s opening mercilessly, burying his face between his cheeks and thrusting his tongue in, swirling it around to get as deep as possible, and within moments he has Sherlock _wailing_ under the onslaught.  Then Sanjay slows down, lowers the intensity and sets a pace that he knows he can keep for a while.

Sherlock can come from rimming alone, but generally not as his second orgasm in an hour, so it’s a safe way to drive him to the edge and keep him there, and it’s something that Sanjay loves doing. He loves the way Sherlock turns into putty in his hands when Sanjay has his tongue inside of him, the way he’s simply unable to keep quiet, from low _hng_ ’s when Sanjay licks gently around his rim to loud gasping cries when he tongue-fucks him with all the force he can muster. He keeps at it for as long as Sherlock can bear, until he’s drenched in sweat and shuddering all over and his cries gain a desperate edge, and then just a little bit longer, letting the intense pleasure tip briefly into frustration and discomfort.

When Sanjay stops and sits up Sherlock lets out a low whine, something between disappointment and relief.

“You did so well just now, Sherlock,” Sanjay tells him. “Do you want to come now?”

“Yes,” Sherlock says. His voice doesn’t even sound like his own at this point, heavy and thick as molasses, as if it coming from a different plane of existence.

“And do you think you deserve to come?”

There’s a brief hesitation, then Sherlock sighs: “No.”

“Very good, that’s the right answer. You don’t, not yet. You’ll have to work for it a bit more. Get to your knees.”

Sherlock begins fulfilling the order immediately, but he moves more sluggishly now, like his body is too heavy for him. He rises to all fours, his cock hanging swollen and full under him.

“Good. Now stay like this and don’t you dare touch yourself. Just think about what you’d like me to do to you.”

Sanjay slips quickly into the bathroom and swirls a little mouthwash in his mouth. He knows that Sherlock has no qualms kissing him regardless of where Sanjay’s mouth has been, but Sanjay’s own sensibilities aren’t really on board with that. And it’s good for both of them to have a little break. Sanjay can refocus, and being ignored for a moment makes Sherlock all the more desperate.

When he comes back to the bedroom, Sherlock hasn’t moved a muscle. He’s on his hands and knees on the bed, flushed and breathing heavily. Sanjay kneels down behind him and pushes his pelvis forward until his hip points press into Sherlock’s arse cheeks and his erection slides between them. Rimming Sherlock never fails to make him hard as a rock, and it feels wonderful now to rub himself against Sherlock’s crack, still wet with Sanjay’s saliva.

“Have you thought about it?” he asks as he rocks forward, enjoying the delicious friction.

“Yes,” Sherlock moans, “yes.”

“So tell me, what should I do to you?”

“F-fuck me, please,” Sherlock begs, but it’s evident from the tone of his voice that he doesn’t think it’s going to work.

Sanjay swats his arse lightly. “I think I’ve made myself clear that you haven’t earned my cock. But I’ll give you something else. Hand me some lube,” he waits until Sherlock has reached for the bedside table before adding, “and a dildo.”

For someone who’s made do with his right hand until the age of forty, Sherlock has amassed an extensive collection of sex toys by now. He’s a curious man, so obviously he felt the need to try pretty much everything on the market, including some things designed for women, just to be sure he wasn’t missing out on something due to gendered marketing. He discarded most of them after the first try, declaring them not worth the trouble of cleaning them after use, but a few select ones have made the cut. Sherlock’s favourite is a thick, large dildo that Sanjay isn’t particularly fond of on a primal level simply because it’s significantly bigger than he is, but Sherlock sometimes likes to feel stretched wide and stuffed full. Predictably, that’s the one Sherlock reaches for.

“Oh no,” Sanjay stops him. “This one is only for when you’ve been particularly good. Get the smaller one, the black one.”

Obediently, Sherlock finds the right box and hands it to Sanjay along with a bottle of lube before resuming his position.

“Thank you. Now get down on your forearms and spread your legs a bit more.” Sherlock does as he’s told, assuming a position that Sanjay knows makes him feel particularly submissive, presenting his arse for Sanjay’s use. And it’s certainly a beautiful sight to look at, the two lush white mounds exposing Sherlock’s slick hole, ready and waiting to be filled. Curbing the sudden spike in his own desire, Sanjay takes out the dildo. It’s a sleek, smooth thing, slightly curved at a perfect angle to stimulate Sherlock’s prostate. He slathers it liberally with lube and pushes it in in one smooth stroke.

“ _Hnng, yesss,_ ” Sherlock moans, his muscles clenching greedily around the toy, pulling it in deeper.

“There, does that feel good, love?” Sanjay asks, moving the toy a little to rub more firmly against that sweet spot inside Sherlock.

“Yes, yes, please.”

“So stay still for me, all right? If you’re good, you’ll get your reward at the end.” With that, Sanjay begins fucking him with the toy. He alternates slow, deep strokes with faster, shallower ones, and Sherlock takes it eagerly, moaning unintelligible pleas into the pillow.

After a while, when Sanjay’ arm starts hurting a bit from the repetitive motion, he stops.

“You do the work now,” he says, assuming a slightly bored tone, as if he couldn’t be bothered to do anything for Sherlock anymore. “Come on, push back, fuck yourself on it.” It takes Sherlock a moment to switch from stillness to action, but then he starts moving quickly, impaling himself on the dildo again and again with so much force it’s difficult for Sanjay to keep the toy steady. Sherlock’s wild with need, utterly uninhibited as he pushes his hips back desperately, issuing deep, punched-out grunts every time the dildo slides into him.

“That’s it, Sherlock, that’s perfect, you’re doing so well. Just a little bit harder now, come on, you can do it. Show me how hard you’d want me to fuck you right now.” And Sherlock picks up speed, slamming himself down on the dildo impossibly hard. But the exertion is obviously too much, soon his tempo begins to slacken, his muscles tremble from exertion and a hint of frustration slips into his moans. The dildo is too slim and smooth, Sherlock can’t get enough leverage in this position and he’s been ready to come for ages. Sanjay knows he’s nearing the end of his tether.

Sanjay lets him push back a few more times and then orders him to stop. Sherlock stills immediately but his body continues shaking minutely and each of his exhales is a low, thin moan.

“That was amazing, Sherlock,” Sanjay tells him, grateful that they are close enough to the end now that he can let more gentleness slip in. “You’ve done incredibly well and I’m so proud of you.” Sherlock sighs shakily and slumps a little in obvious relief that he’s pleased Sanjay. “You’ve more than earned your reward, and you get to choose how you get it. You can either come right now, with the toy or just my hand if you prefer. Or I fuck you, but in that case you’ll have to hold out until I’m done with you before you can finish. It’s you choice.”

“You,” Sherlock says immediately and predictably. “Please. You.”

“You’re sure you can take it?”

“Yes. Please.”

“All right. You can move as much as you want to now, but don’t touch yourself unless I tell you to.”

Sanjay slips the toy out of Sherlock’s body, slicks his own aching cock with lube and lines up. Sherlock’s body trembles under him and Sanjay’s instinct is to go gently, to cradle Sherlock’s in his arms like the precious thing that he is and make tender love to him, but that’s not what Sherlock needs right now. He takes hold of Sherlock’s hips and pushes in without preamble.

Sherlock lets out a wail of such pure satisfaction that Sanjay almost feels bad for making him wait so long. He starts thrusting immediately, no longer wanting to draw things out, and Sherlock meets him halfway, driving himself down on Sanjay’s cock with even more desperation than he did with the dildo. But he’s clearly exhausted, and Sanjay knows that the best thing he can do for him is give him the pounding the so clearly wants without making him work for it. And so he tightens his grip on Sherlock’s hips and starts ramming in with as much force as he can manage, giving it to Sherlock good and hard so that all he can do is take it and moan in increasingly high-pitched tones that soon turn into full-on screams of absolute ecstasy, and Sanjay thanks every deity ever worshipped by humankind that Mrs Hudson isn’t home. But then Sherlock’s cries start to quieten and his body goes lax in Sanjay’s hands, and that’s a clear sign that he’s pushed Sherlock almost to the limit. He reaches around for Sherlock’s leaking cock, which makes his rhythm falter but he’s fairly sure that at this point Sherlock would be unable to get himself off. He strokes Sherlock a few times in time with his rough thrusts, and then he issues his last command of the night: “Come _now_.”

Sherlock shouts but it’s Sanjay who comes then and there, spending himself in Sherlock’s overworked body. It’s a powerful orgasm, but like every time he assumes the dominant role, he experiences it in a sort of detached way, as something that happens to his body but not to his brain. He’s spasming and calling Sherlock’s name and pumping out his release, but the only thing he’s truly aware of is Sherlock’s shuddering body and the fact that he needs a few more thrusts, a few more strokes. Sanjay gives them to him with all he has, and then Sherlock clenches around him and starts coming. His body nearly lifts off the bed with the force of it and a helpless, heaving sob rocks his frame as he spurts thick jets of come in Sanjay’s hand. Sanjay murmurs encouragements as he strokes him through it, milking out every last drop of Sherlock’s release, but even after his cock has nothing more to give Sherlock’s cries and convulsions continue in a seemingly endless, almost violent orgasm.

When it’s finally over Sherlock slumps as his muscles give out, Sanjay’s softened penis slipping out of him the process, and for a moment the only sound in the room are Sherlock’s wet, shaky breaths. Then Sanjay springs into action.

“Sherlock, my love, you were incredible, you’re amazing, I love you so much,” he babbles, the avalanche of affection and praise and tenderness that he had to keep in check until now finally pouring out in a barely coherent stream. He uncoils Sherlock’s unresponsive body, straightens his legs and helps him lie down properly, wipes away the tears clinging to his eyelashes – Sherlock almost always cries at the end of a session and it doesn’t mean that anything’s wrong, but in never fails to tug painfully at Sanjay’s heartstrings. He draws him in his arms and close to his chest, where Sherlock can feel safe and cared for, soothed by the sound of Sanjay’s heartbeat.

“You were so good for me today, Sherlock, so obedient, and you came so beautifully. You’ve no idea how lovely you are, how good you make me feel, how much I love you.” Sherlock blinks at him sluggishly, his face utterly peaceful, and then lets his eyes slide shut. He’s not really asleep, though, only floating just underneath the surface of the real world, so Sanjay continues stroking his hair and lavishing praise on him. Although, to be honest, he probably would have continued even if Sherlock were asleep and couldn’t hear him, because this, right now, is the true climax for him: the head rush he gets when the necessity to focus and stay in control finally stops, when he has Sherlock pliant and blissed out in his arms because Sanjay has given him what he needed, when the magnitude of Sherlock’s trust in him can finally down on him. He can never think about it in the midst of things because then he’d be unable to go on, overwhelmed with the  knowledge that Sherlock wants to surrender to him so completely, lets himself be so vulnerable because he trusts Sanjay to know where the line is and never cross it. It feels like every single cell of Sanjay’s body is bursting with love for Sherlock, and the only outlet for it he has is the endless stream of nearly nonsensical words.

“S’jay?” Sherlock mumbles after a while.

“Yes, my sweet darling love?” The corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitches weakly – he thinks Sanjay’s ridiculous when he goes overboard with the endearments, but there are times when Sanjay just can’t help himself. If he can be sir, then Sherlock can damn well be his sweet darling love afterwards. “How are you feeling?”

“Hmmm,” Sherlock says, which is not an answer, but that’s okay. It always takes Sherlock a while to be able to form sentences. He just breathes slowly for a while, then says, “Thirsty.”

It’s a bit of a struggle to manoeuvre them into a half-sitting position, but Sanjay manages and reaches for his own glass of water, which is still mostly full. He brings it to Sherlock’s lips and holds it as Sherlock sips the water, slowly coming back to the world. Sanjay knows that at this point Sherlock could hold the glass on his own, but it does them both good to have Sanjay do it. Taking care of Sherlock in every imaginable way is an absolute necessity for Sanjay after what he’s put him through.

When Sherlock’s done drinking he looks up at Sanjay with a soft, dopey smile that Sanjay loves because he’s certain that very few people have seen it, and no one as often as he has.

“I love you,” Sherlock says as he tilts his face up, offering his mouth to Sanjay. They kiss tenderly, restoring balance between them.

 “Love you too,” Sanjay says for approximately the tenth time that day. “So much.” He wants to continue trading kisses and sweet words, but there are more pressing matters. “Are you all right? Does anything hurt?”

Sherlock shakes his head. “I’m fine. A bit sore, but in a good way.” He kisses Sanjay again. “Thank you for doing this for me. I know it’s not easy.”

“Easy, no,” Sanjay admits. “But worth it? Every single time, Sherlock.” He pulls Sherlock back against his chest, into the cuddle that they both need.

Soon he’ll wipe down the worst of the mess, and then he’ll draw a hot bath and he’ll let Sherlock soak there for a while to soothe his aching muscles. In the meantime Sanjay will quickly strip the bed and put on fresh sheets and then join Sherlock in the bath and wash him gently and carefully, then wrap him in a fluffy towel and take him back to bed, where Sherlock will doze off to Sanjay’s fingers carding through his hair. He’ll wake up hungry in an hour or two and Sanjay will have French toast or a croque monsieur ready for him and they’ll feed it to each other in bed (which isn’t a particularly sensible thing to do in fresh sheets but neither of them will care) and then kiss for half an hour, by which point Sherlock will be fully back to normal and Sanjay will collapse in bed and sleep for nine hours straight with a sense of a job well done. Sherlock will either go to sleep by his side or wander off to work on an experiment or perhaps start a new composition now that his mind is quiet and calm, but in either case when Sanjay wakes up, Sherlock will be there.


	6. Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock comes home to find Sanjay has unexpected company.

_January 2022_

Sherlock picks up Chinese on his way from the Diogenes Club, where he just solved the most dreadfully boring case for Mycroft. It's Wednesday, and on Wednesdays Sherlock always picks up takeaway for dinner. That's how domestic he's become: he follows a routine and does things based on what day of the week it is. It should be hateful, but it isn't. It doesn't always work out, of course, sometimes cases get in the way of Wednesday takeaway dinner or Friday dance night or Sunday brunch, but the truth is that Sherlock does all he can to prevent it from happening. He _likes_ being unbearably domestic with the man he loves.

He's looking forward to their quiet night in. They'll eat their food, cuddle on the sofa while watching the news or maybe another episode of that cooking show Sanjay likes, then one or both of them will take Kip for his last quick walk of the day and then, finally, they'll retire to the bedroom, making quick work of each other's clothes. They've both been rather busy in the last few days and haven't been able to properly take time with each other, but Sherlock has high hopes that tonight they'll be able to really indulge, preferably using the new vibrator that arrived yesterday. As a matter of fact, he has half a mind to let Sanjay walk Kip on his own and then have him catch Sherlock in flagrante with the toy. Sherlock has recently discovered that getting caught masturbating (by Sanjay, of course, anyone else would be absolutely mortifying) gives him a great thrill, and it works like a charm on Sanjay too. Just another unexpected benefit of living together.

Absorbed as he is in his musing on the orgasms (hopefully plural) that he anticipates in his near future, it comes as a nasty shock to him when he starts climbing the stairs to 221B and realises he can hear voices from upstairs. But the initial displeasure that Sanjay isn't alone is quickly replaced by straight-up confusion, because the other voice is one he'd recognise anywhere: John. It's surprising enough to make Sherlock question his own hearing abilities. Of course John stops by sometimes and he and Sanjay are on good terms now, so it's not just hearing them talking that's odd, but the _way_ they talk. After an initial period of distrust (which was understandable on Sanjay's part, less so on John's – but Sherlock always avoided thinking about the reasons for John’s behaviour, because there was a good chance that if he did, the answer he'd come up with would be latent homophobia), Sanjay and John have settled into being polite acquaintances who don't have much in common besides Sherlock. As far as Sherlock knows, their conversations have always mostly consisted of remarks on the weather and complaints about the state of London's public transport system. But now, even though Sherlock's still too far to make out the words, it's obvious from their tone that this is no small talk. Rather, it sounds like a jocular but involved discussion between two people who actually enjoy _each other's company_.

As he climbs higher, the conversation comes into focus.

"… about that, but in either case, I think it's high time to have a man of colour playing him,” Sanjay is saying.

“Okay, but in that case you’ve got to admit Idris Elba would be a much better choice.”

"Hmm, maybe. He might be getting too old though."

"What?! Shut up, he's barely older than me!"

Sanjay laughs. He’s talking to John and he’s _laughing_ and John is _joining in._

Sherlock opens the door to the flat. A part of him is surprised to find it's actually Sanjay and John sitting there across from each other and not just some other people who happen to sound like them. Kip is sitting by John's feet, letting John scratch him behind the year, which apparently feels so good that Kip only looks at Sherlock when he enters but doesn't actually come to greet him, the traitor.

"What's going on?" Sherlock asks, rather stupidly, then zeroes in on John. "What are you doing here?"

John chuckles. "Hello to you too," he says pointedly. "I came to return Mrs Hudson car and then I wanted to talk to you, but you weren't home."

"So I offered him a beer," Sanjay adds, like it's an everyday occurrence.

Sherlock doesn't even stop to wonder what John had to do to bribe Mrs Hudson into lending him her new Lamborghini. Sanjay and John. Having a beer together. Talking and laughing.

Sanjay gets up to give him a peck on the cheek, but Sherlock doesn't react, blinking and staring at John instead.

"We were talking about who should be the next James Bond," John offers awkwardly to fill the silence. Sherlock feels the plastic bag holding the takeaway shift in his hand and only then does he realise that Kip has left his position at John's feet and come to sniff at the food, and that finally jostles Sherlock out of his stupor.

"Fascinating," he says, and he sort of means it, although not with respect to John and Sanjay's conversation topic. "I got Chinese." He sets the bag on the coffee table so that he can take off his coat and pat Kip’s head.

“Great,” Sanjay says. “John, want to stay for dinner? Sherlock always buys far more than two people can eat.”

John looks between the two of them with some hesitation. “If that’s all right,” he says eventually. “Thank you. Is it from the place across the street?”

“Obviously,” Sherlock says. The fact that the three of them are going to have dinner together seems impossible, but it’s becoming apparent that the very confused feelings Sherlock is having are actually positive ones. He’s about to have dinner with his two favourite people in the world, which is something he never imagined could happen. He smiles at John and hopes he doesn’t look deranged. “No point getting Peking duck anywhere else. And by the way, you don’t have to take Sanjay’s opinion on Bond actors seriously.  His views are based entirely on how hot he finds them.”

“What?” Sanjay says in mock affront. “You think I’m shallow?”

“No, but there’s no other reason for you to have any interest at all in the franchise besides the appearance of the lead actor. John here has a thing about Queen and Country and firearms and competent people with questionable morals, but you don’t, nor are you a fan of violence, casual misogyny or imperialist nostalgia. Ergo, your interest in James Bond stems only from the fact that you like looking at fit men in good suits.” Sherlock runs his hands down the lapels of his own jacket nonchalantly.

Sanjay smirks. “Well, you’re not wrong about _that_.” He gives Sherlock a very unsubtle once-over. The room suddenly seems rather hot, but the familiarity of Sanjay’s flirtatious gaze feels grounding after the confusion that John’s presence has stirred up in Sherlock. Sanjay's deep brown eyes bore into his, communicating quite clearly that yes, there are orgasms, plural, in Sherlock's future. Spectacular ones.

John clears his throat. “You realise it’s _King_ and Country these days, don’t you?”

It takes Sherlock a while before he can tear his eyes away from Sanjay’s and look at John. “What?”

“We have a king now. Have for a while. He’s on banknotes and stamps and everything.”

Sherlock frowns at him. What on earth is John talking about? “I pay by card and send emails,” he says, then lets it out of his mind. “I’m going to put the food on plates.”

“Thank you, love,” Sanjay smiles at him, amused and fond. “John, more beer?”

“Uh, yeah, why not, thanks.”

Sanjay follows Sherlock to the kitchen and once they’re there and out of John’s sight, Sanjay’s warm hand closes around Sherlock’s wrist.

“Hey,” he whispers, “you okay? You seemed a bit… stunned there.”

Sherlock shakes his head. “I’m fine. It’s just… seeing the two of you talking, it’s… weird.”

“We’ve talked hundreds of times,” Sanjay points out.

“Yes, but not like this. Not like… friends.”

“Oh. I suppose that’s true. But that’s good, isn’t it?” Sanjay asks, suddenly a little uncertain.

“Yes,” Sherlock says, and it’s only when the word is out of his mouth that he realises how absolutely true it is. Beneath the thin layer of awkwardness at seeing the two loves of his life laughing together is a distinct feeling of joy and relief that his boyfriend and his best friend get along. Initially, Sherlock could hardly bear having the two of them in the same room, it felt _wrong_ and left him unsure about how he should behave. But now? Everything’s changed over the years. He and Sanjay having John over doesn’t have to be any weirder than when it’s Sanjay’s friend Tina.

“You don’t mind I invited him for dinner?” Sanjay asks in a low voice, and Sherlock almost laughs at the beautiful absurdity of it: _Sanjay_ inviting _John_ for dinner and worrying that _Sherlock_ would mind. “I didn’t want to send him away when I knew you’d be home soon. And I thought it would be nice if we… bonded a bit.” His eyebrows draw together. “Pun not intended.”

“It _is_ nice, and of course I don’t mind. Though it’s true I was hoping for a slightly more… intimate evening.”

Sanjay grins at him wickedly. “Well, let’s eat dinner, see what John wants to talk to you about, and then I’ll show you what I do to fit men in good suits.”

Sherlock feigns disinterest. “You take the suit off. Not very original.”

Sanjay raises an eyebrow. “Oh, do I?” he asks and looks Sherlock up and down in a way that makes Sherlock want to squirm. “Or do I keep the suit _on_ because I want to enjoy how deliciously rumpled and dishevelled and debauched my fit man will look when I’m done with him? Wait and find out!” Sanjay winks at him and walks back to the living room with two bottles of beer in hand.

Sherlock gives himself a few seconds to savour the effect Sanjay’s words have had on him and then he takes out three plates and starts spooning out food on them, the aroma of soy sauce and fried vegetables filling the air. He hears Sanjay and John resuming the conversation in the living room, the topic changing illogically to gossip about a shared acquaintance. Sherlock marvels at it. He thinks, not for the first time since he met Sanjay, that despite all the terrible things that he’s lived through, he’s actually incredibly lucky. He’s loved two amazing men in his life, and in an incredible twist of fate, he gets to have them both: one as a loving partner and perfect lover, the other as a trusted friend and the best possible companion to have by his side during a case. Most people, he thinks, don’t get to have even a half of that.

“How do you expect me to carry three plates?” Sherlock calls out to them. He hears them laugh, followed by John’s quiet “Sit, let me” and then John appears in the doorway.

“Shouldn’t you have learnt that trick when you were undercover as a waiter?” he asks lightly as he takes two plates off the counter. Sherlock heart skips a beat at the reference, but even the old hurt and guilt is now long behind them. John is smiling at him, and Sherlock smiles back.

They carry the food back to the living room. John resumes his seat on the sofa and Sherlock sits opposite Sanjay in one of the armchairs that Sanjay brought with him when he moved in. They eat with the plates on their knees and Sherlock props his feet up on the seat of Sanjay's chair, where Sanjay occasionally strokes his ankle. John asks them for help with the preparation of Rosie's birthday surprise and, naturally, they accept without hesitation. It’s easy and companionable and domestic. It's perfect.


	7. Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _That was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?_ (A Study in Pink)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this chapter contains a brief reference to terminal illness.

_March 2019 (nine months together)_

Sherlock tries to focus on the security footage he’s watching, but his mind is wandering. He’s too acutely aware of the fact that today marks the fifth anniversary of Sanjay’s husband’s death and he can’t seem to make himself concentrate on the case he’s working on. He’s been giving Sanjay space, making sure not to impose in an area of Sanjay’s life that obviously doesn’t concern him. But it’s been on his mind anyway. Sanjay has shown no signs of being subdued or dejected in recent days and as far as Sherlock has been able to determine, remembering Chris generally doesn’t cause Sanjay pain, but still, he... worries. He’s been eyeing his phone far more than the security footage on his laptop and it’s incredibly distracting, but he can’t help himself. He dislikes not knowing if Sanjay’s okay.

As if on cue, his phone pings with a new message and Sherlock reaches for it immediately. It’s from Sanjay.

_Can you come over_ _?_

Sherlock is out of his chair before he’s even finished reading. Clearly, something’s wrong. Sanjay wouldn’t be so direct unless he really needed Sherlock there, so Sherlock throws on his coat and is out of the door and waving down a taxi within moments, the security footage all but forgotten. On the one hand, it’s a relief to be able to do something, but on the other hand, there’s a good chance this means Sanjay isn’t all right, and Sherlock hates the thought of that. He promises the cabbie extra money to go as fast as possible, even though he has no idea how he would actually go about comforting Sanjay, if that was wanted of him.

Once he gets to Sanjay’s place, it’s immediately obvious that Sanjay isn’t okay, not least because the dogs fail to show their customary excitement at Sherlock’s arrival, reflecting their master’s mood. Sanjay, for his part, looks like he hasn’t slept. There are circles under his eyes and although he’s obviously showered in an effort to function normally, he hasn’t shaved or combed his hair and he’s wearing a worn-out long-sleeved T-shirt and a frankly offensive pair of tracksuit bottoms. Sherlock takes one look at him and wraps him in his arms.

It reminds him of the one time he dared to hug John, in the sense that he aches to provide comfort despite being unsure how to go about it, but here is a huge, unmissable difference: this time Sherlock doesn’t have to fear he’ll be rejected. Sanjay asked him to come: he _wants_ comfort from him. And Sanjay hugs back, burying his face in the crook of Sherlock’s neck.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” he murmurs.

“Of course.” Sherlock’s quickly getting overheated in his coat, but he doesn’t care. He’ll continue hugging Sanjay as long as Sanjay requires. “What do you need?” he asks gently, hoping that Sanjay can tell him and that it’s something he can provide.

Sanjay sniffles a little. “I don’t know, I just wanted to see you. But I don’t even know if asking you to come was the right thing to do because you shouldn’t have to…”

“Shhh. I want to be here.”

“But it’s… it’s about Chris,” Sanjay tells him a little sheepishly, as if a part of him expected Sherlock to decide that in that case he’d rather be elsewhere. Preposterous. As if he could, after how understanding Sanjay’s been of everything relating to John.

“I know, Sanjay,” he says softly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.”

Sanjay steps away a little and fixes Sherlock with a long, assessing look, and then says slowly as if weighing every word, “I think I want to, though.”

Sherlock feels a lump lodge itself in his throat and he nods, unable to look away from Sanjay’s eyes. He wants this, wants to be included in this part of Sanjay’s life if it’s what Sanjay wants, but at the same time it’s a little bit terrifying in a way he doesn’t quite understand. He takes off his coat and they settle on the sofa, Sanjay curling himself close to Sherlock, naturally seeking comfort in Sherlock’s arms. Sherlock just holds him, giving him time to find the words he needs.

“You know Chris wrote books,” Sanjay says after a while. His voice sounds a little flat but determined.

Sherlock gives an affirmative hum. He hasn’t read any of the three novels that were published as flimsy paperbacks by a tiny indie publishing house, but as far as he’s been able to tell by flipping through them, they are faux-medieval retellings of Jane Austen’s works, containing significantly more dragons, swordfights and gay people than the originals (or so Sherlock assumes, at least). They’ve amassed a small number of mostly favourable reviews on Goodreads. Sherlock considered reading them despite the idiotic topics to get a better idea of what kind of person Chris had been, but he quickly abandoned that plan when he realised that they contained quite a lot of fairly explicit sex scenes. There are things he doesn’t need to know.

“When he died,” Sanjay continues slowly, “he left an unfinished manuscript. _Emma the Hatchmaker._ ”

“The what?”

“Hatchmaker. She breeds dragons.”

“Oh,” Sherlock says in a carefully neutral tone.

“I… put off reading it. I wanted to, many times, but I could never get past the first few paragraphs because I knew that once I’d read it…” Sanjay trails off, but he doesn’t need to continue for Sherlock to get what he means.

“There would be nothing left,” he fills in. Sanjay nods; Sherlock can feel his head move where it rests on Sherlock’s chest.

“But last night… I thought it was time. It felt like a step I needed to make, now that I have you and I’m _happy_. So I read it. I stayed up all night and I read it. And now there’s nothing left.”

Sherlock tightens his arms around Sanjay. He can only imagine how Sanjay must feel – like he’s let go of the last link to the love of his life. He doesn’t know what to say, so he just holds him and kisses the top of his head and rocks them a little and hopes that his inept comforting provides Sanjay with at least a little bit of relief.  

“But that’s not even the worst bit,” Sanjay says after a while, his voice slightly choked. “The worst bit is that at first it was fine, it was _fun_ , there were comments in the margins where he left notes for himself and it was like I could hear him speak and it made me remember all the times when he read bits to me or talked about his ideas and it was _good_. But then towards the end it started… showing. That he was ill. Or maybe it didn’t, maybe I just saw it there because I knew, I don’t know, but it was like reliving the whole thing all over again, watching him disappear right in front of my eyes and not being able to do a single fucking thing about it and --” A huge, wracking sob tears itself from his chest and he shakes in Sherlock’s embrace but he doesn’t really start crying properly, just breathes wet, ragged breaths and clutches Sherlock’s shirt in his fist and it’s _awful._ Sherlock doesn’t have the faintest idea how to make it even a little bit better.  What’s all his genius good for now?

“I would do anything,” he whispers into Sanjay’s hair, “to make this easier for you.” He hates himself for not being able to come up with anything better, for being obviously terrible at being the caring boyfriend he wants to be at a time when it actually matters.

Sanjay sniffles and then sits up a little. He runs his fingers over wet patch on Sherlock’s shirt and shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, not looking at Sherlock. “This isn’t… you shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“No,” Sherlock says firmly. Making Sanjay apologise to him is the last thing he wanted to do. He’s really no good at this. “I want to be there for you when you need me.” He gently wipes a fresh tear from Sanjay’s cheek.

“I know,” Sanjay says in a strained whisper. “And I do. Need you.” He closes his eyes and leans into Sherlock’s hand. “But it’s unfair to want this from you when it’s been five years and I should be _done_ with this, I shouldn’t feel like this anymore.”

“But you usually don’t, do you? Most of the time, you smile when you think of him.” Sherlock knows Sanjay’s special Chris smile, the unique softness in his eyes. “But you just did something that made you feel like you were saying goodbye all over again, I think you have every right to be upset. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been. If something happens twenty years from now that reminds you and makes you hurt, it’ll still be completely okay for you to ‘want this’ from me, and I’ll still want to give it.”

It takes Sherlock a moment to realise what he’s just said – the assumption that in twenty years’ time they will still be together. He feels a brief flush of embarrassment, but the truth is that he can no longer imagine his life without Sanjay in it.

Sanjay looks at him intensely for a moment, sad and lost in a way that makes Sherlock’s heart break, then leans in for a kiss. His lips are chapped and salty from tears, but he kisses like he’s a man lost in the desert and Sherlock is water.

“Make love to me,” Sanjay whispers when they break apart, his breath ghosting over Sherlock’s lips.

Sherlock blinks at him. “Now?” he asks, stammering a little because in all honesty, there have been few moments in their relationship so far when sex was further from his mind.

“I know I look like shit right now,” Sanjay says wryly, wiping at his face with his sleeve. “And I know this whole situation is a complete opposite of a turn on, but please, Sherlock.” He lets his forehead drop to Sherlock’s shoulder, as if his head was too heavy for him to hold it up. “Please.”

He’s not wrong – he looks terrible, exhausted and unhappy, but it doesn’t matter because Sherlock aches with the need to do something to help. He still feels rather wrong-footed, but making love to Sanjay is at least something he knows how to do. He knows how to make him feel cherished and cared for and _not alone_ , and it might not be much, it might not be enough to make the desperate loneliness Sanjay must be feeling right now go away, but it will be better than nothing.

He presses a kiss to Sanjay’s temple, strokes up and down his back.

“Come to bed, then,” he murmurs, and takes Sanjay by the hand. He leads him upstairs to the bedroom, where the bed is unmade for the first time in Sherlock’s memory. The bed is not the one Sanjay shared with Chris, Sherlock knows – this is a mass-produced flat pack model that Sanjay obviously got when he was trying to make a fresh start. It stands in the same place, though, mainly because there’s simply no room for it anywhere else. The walls have been painted and the curtains replaced, but other than that, as far as Sherlock can tell, the bedroom still looks more or less the same as it must have done in Chris’s time. Sherlock wonders, now more than ever, if it feels weird or wrong or awkward for Sanjay to bring him here. The first time they had sex here was definitely a bit stilted, though Sherlock’s own nerves probably contributed to it as well. Now, with Sanjay’s feelings for Chris so close under the surface, it seems even more important that Sherlock tread carefully. He isn’t sure what Sanjay wants, exactly, if perhaps he wants to imagine it’s someone else touching him, but it doesn’t really matter. If what Sanjay needs right now is some sort of illusion, then Sherlock won’t break it.

Sherlock undresses himself quickly and Sanjay slowly, kissing every each of newly revealed skin. Sanjay is pliant in his arms, reacting to Sherlock but not trying to steer the proceedings in any way, which is unusual for them, but it’s okay – Sherlock knows Sanjay’s body better than his own by now, he can read it like a book, follow its cues to give Sanjay what he needs.

Sanjay tends to take the chain holding the two wedding bands off for sex, but Sherlock leaves it on this time. He kisses Sanjay’s chest right above the rings and feels goose bumps rise beneath his lips.

When Sherlock takes off Sanjay’s trousers it’s obvious that Sanjay is still completely soft in his dark blue boxer briefs, but Sherlock doesn’t let that discourage him – he has all the time in the world.  He meticulously covers Sanjay’s legs and feet with kisses from toe to hip, paying special attention to his sensitive inner thighs, and then he rubs his face against Sanjay’s crotch, nuzzles into the musky, heady scent of him and Sanjay gasps and sighs above him, his hands twisting into the sheets.

By the time Sherlock peels off Sanjay’s pants he’s filled out a little, but not much – Sherlock can take all of him in his mouth without any trouble. That’s okay, though – Sherlock loves feeling him grow and stiffen in his mouth, experiencing Sanjay’s erection more acutely than his own. He lets Sanjay’s cock just lie on his tongue for a moment, enjoying the weight and heat of him, savouring the sheer intimacy of having a mostly flaccid penis in his mouth instead of a hard one, and then he begins the slowest blowjob he’s ever given. He sucks and licks and kisses and _worships_ , lavishing attention on every single millimetre of Sanjay’s growing length, taking time to show the same reverence to the heaviness of his balls, the heated skin of his perineum and inner thighs. Sanjay responds slowly but beautifully and when Sherlock finally lifts his head from Sanjay’s groin Sanjay is flushed and panting, gazing at Sherlock with glazed, heavy-lidded eyes.

“Sherlock,” he rasps, the first word he’s said since they got to the bedroom, and his hand in Sherlock’s hair tightens slightly, a clear signal for Sherlock to move up. Sherlock feels a weight he hadn’t been aware of lift off his shoulders at the sound of his own name. Up to this point, he felt almost like this was a weird sort of threesome, Chris’s ghost hovering somewhere behind him. And he didn’t _mind_ , not really, but it still gives him an unexpected boost to realise that Sanjay doesn’t want him to play a role and recreate the past, but the very opposite: be himself and ground Sanjay to the present.

His lips feel a little numb from all the work they’ve been doing but he doesn’t care and he kisses Sanjay with all he has, telling him without words everything he doesn’t quite know how to express, _anything you need_ and _you’re not alone_ and _I want to be here for you always always always._

“Please,” Sanjay begs even though he doesn’t need to, because Sherlock’s hand is already reaching blindly for the bottle of lube on the bedside table and he has no intention of denying him anything. He resumes his place between Sanjay’s thighs and takes him back into his mouth as he gently begins opening him up.

Sherlock doesn’t get to do this very often – he’s usually the one who bottoms, and even when he doesn’t, Sanjay doesn’t generally need extensive preparation. But tonight Sherlock takes his sweet time and god, it’s amazing, slowly fingering Sanjay open while he sucks him gently, hearing his breathy moans, feeling the twitch of his muscles, the tremble of his thighs. He relishes in giving Sanjay the slowest build-up of pleasure that rolls thick like honey, letting his arousal rise in small increments until he’s writhing and arching his back, unconsciously impaling himself on Sherlock’s fingers – and it’s clear, at that point, that thoughts of anything else have been driven straight out of his mind.

Sherlock slides his fingers out of Sanjay’s body and carefully manoeuvres him to lie on his side with his knees bent as Sherlock spoons up behind him, gathering Sanjay back in his arms where he belongs. Sherlock lines up and pushes in, moaning loudly as the overwhelming heat envelops him.

“Sherlock, oh fuck, Sherlock,” Sanjay gasps as he bears down, flinging his top arm behind himself to grip Sherlock’s buttock and push him in deeper. “ _Sherlock._ ”

“Sanjay,” Sherlock barely manages to respond, moaning again when he sinks all the way in, his hips flush with Sanjay’s arse, his chest pressed against Sanjay’s back. He buries his nose in Sanjay’s hair and breathes deeply, trying to slow his galloping heartrate, his skyrocketing arousal. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to being inside Sanjay, the sheer intensity of it, the absolute privilege of being allowed to experience Sanjay’s body such an incredibly intimate way. He takes a few moments just to hug Sanjay close to his chest and breathe him in, let the sharp spike recede, let his body adjust. When he feels he can do so without coming on the spot, he plants one foot on the bed to gain some leverage and he begins thrusting. Immediately, Sanjay’s hand lets go of Sherlock and flies to his own cock, and he strokes himself in time with Sherlock’s steady thrusts. Sherlock kisses his ear and neck and shoulder, runs his hand over Sanjay’s chest and nipples and concentrates all of his attention on driving Sanjay to orgasm. He angles his hips just right to target Sanjay’s prostate and, spurred by Sanjay’s appreciative moans, he speeds up. He can’t keep quiet as he rolls his hips forward, chasing Sanjay’s release as much as his own. He can tell Sanjay’s close by the tone of his voice, the clench of his muscles, the movements of his hand on himself. He joins his hand to Sanjay’s and soon enough Sanjay’s body tenses and he comes, shuddering like a leaf in Sherlock’s arms. It only takes Sherlock a few more thrusts before he spends himself inside Sanjay, crying out his name.

When Sherlock slips out Sanjay turns to face him, and they kiss lazily for a while as they come down. Sherlock eventually finds one of Sanjay’s socks to wipe up the worst of the mess, but other than that they stay entwined, breathing into the warm space between their mouths. Sanjay is relaxed in his arms and Sherlock hopes fervently that it’s not just post-orgasmic lassitude.

“Thank you,” Sanjay says after a while, nuzzling Sherlock’s jaw. Sherlock doesn’t think he’d done anything particularly deserving of thanks, but he doesn’t protest.

“Anytime,” he says instead.

Sanjay looks at him, unexpectedly serious.

“I don’t mean just for the sex.”

“I know.” Sherlock kisses his forehead. It’s him who should be thankful, really, for being allowed to share this with Sanjay, being allowed into a part of Sanjay’s life that he has no rightful claim to.

Sanjay burrows a little bit closer to him, sighs deeply and then says, “If he could see me right now, he’d be so happy for me.”

Sherlock runs his fingertips down Sanjay’s spine, hesitating. “Would he?”

Sanjay hums in agreement and brings Sherlock’s hand to his lips. “Because I have you.  You’re exactly what he would’ve wanted for me.”

He looks up at Sherlock with calm, peaceful eyes, and he smiles. It’s the best thing Sherlock has seen in days.

“Tell me something about him,” he says, hoping it’s the right thing to do. “Something that you like remembering.”

“He made funny faces when he was writing,” Sanjay says after a moment of consideration, smiling his soft Chris smile. “He didn’t talk to himself, but he gestured and grimaced, kind of acted the scenes out, it was adorable. He made the best, most intricate rangoli I’ve ever seen. And he blushed really easily, I could make his ears turn red with just a word or a look, even after we’d been together for years.” He grins at the memory, then says, “Kind of like you, actually.”

“My ears don’t turn red,” Sherlock blurts out immediately. He hopes they don’t, anyway. He would look ridiculous.

“Well, no,” Sanjay admits, “but your cheeks do, at the drop of a hat.” He kisses both of Sherlock’s cheeks which, infuriatingly, immediately begin to heat up. “You blush beautifully. One of the few things you have in common. That, and that you’re both finicky eaters.”

“ _Finicky_? I eat everything you cook!”

“Yes,” Sanjay smiles, and Sherlock realises suddenly that this isn’t his Chris smile anymore. It’s similar but not the same, and it occurs to Sherlock that perhaps this might in fact be his Sherlock smile. “But that’s because I no longer try to give you anything with carrots, blue cheese, tofu, avocado or raisins, and I know that peas and mashed potatoes must never touch and that nothing is ever sweet enough and dozens of other things.”

It touches Sherlock unexpectedly, that Sanjay has noticed this and taken care to accommodate Sherlock’s whims. It shouldn’t surprise him, though, because that’s what Sanjay has been from the start: caring and accommodating and invested in Sherlock’s wellbeing, however ridiculous Sherlock’s needs might be.

“That’s not a complaint, by the way,” Sanjay clarifies when Sherlock stays quiet for a moment. “It makes it more rewarding when I cook something you really like.”

“I didn’t realise you noticed all that,” Sherlock says.

Sanjay scoffs. “Of course I noticed. I don’t have to be a super-observant genius to notice what my boyfriend likes, you know. I tend to be pretty focused on him.”

There are still dark circles under Sanjay’s eyes and the skin around them looks fragile and thin, but there’s light in his eyes now, and something that has been coiled tight in Sherlock’s chest finally relaxes, because _he did that_. He helped. He may not be so bad at this after all. He leans in for a soft, drawn out kiss that Sanjay breaks a bit too soon to yawn.

 “I think I need a nap,” he says, pulling the covers up to his ears.

Sherlock brushes a strand of hair from Sanjay’s forehead and despite the physical impossibility he’s certain he can feel his heart swell with affection for this man who’s let him into his life so completely, who trusts him without holding anything back.

“Sleep, then,” he says softly. “I’ll take the dogs for a walk and get us something for a late lunch.” Something involving chips, he thinks.

“Hmm. Get me a burger from the place by the post office?”

Sherlock grins at him, not really sure why. “Okay. Chicken or veggie?”

“I don’t know, veggie I guess. Or maybe chicken. Yeah, get chicken. Wait, no, veggie.”

“And who’s finicky now?” Sherlock chuckles. “I’ll just get both and we can share, how does that sound?”

“Like you’re the best,” Sanjay tells him, and he smiles so beautifully that Sherlock can’t help but kiss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> [SHERLOCK/SANJAY ART](https://missselenewrites.tumblr.com/post/172169849501/everyone-look-at-this-beautiful-painting-of)


End file.
